Revival
by rollwithbutter
Summary: Mitchell, George, Annie and Nina find themselves responsible for an intriguing stranger who could change one of their lives. Round about Season 3, no spoilers, AU plus an OC.
1. Chapter 1

**My first attempt at ANYTHING, so sorry for any format issues or incorrect lingo, etc... This was simply stuck in my head and interfering with life, so I had to get it out. This was so fun to write! There may actually be up to 3 parts if anyone shows any interest, so let me know with reviews!**

**Important things: I haven't seen Season 4 and got into this late, so this was due to Mitchell-withdrawal from the Season 3 finale. Consider it an AU to that. I've ignored the Wolf-Shaped Bullet thing, Herrick, and kept Richard Hargreave and Seven alive to toy with. Annie got rescued from purgatory, but there's no Annie/Mitchell romance. **

**I'm American. Any Brit-speak I attempt will be atrocious, therefore I've kept it to a minimum. Also, I use commas incessantly. That's about it. Enjoy!**

**I own nothing. Being Human is (alas!) not mine.**

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1362 years. It was a funny way to end them. She had always assumed that she would go out in a more grandiose manner. Assassinated perhaps. Suicide, even. She had to admit that what amounted to little more than a hunting accident had never really crossed her mind as a possibility. Life was funny that way.

George awoke to the dank, musty smell of damp earth and vegetation. He lifted his head from the ground and groaned, looking about. He was lying in what seemed to be a large field, thoroughly bordered by woods on all sides. To his right, he could hear the distant mournful cry of gulls. Near the coast, then. He frowned, confused. He had begun quite a bit further inland and didn't usually end up this far from his starting point. He had carefully taken all his usual precautions; checking for campers, lovers and vagrants, all while dragging a recently spoiled cornish game hen through the tangled undergrowth in concentric circles. Had he caught scent of something besides poultry after he had changed? For once, he wished he could remember some of his lupine wanderings.

With another groan and much bodily creaking he pushed himself up from amongst the sharp stalks that covered much of the ground. He looked down and gave himself a quick once-over, checking for damage. Filthy and malodorous, but overall in good condition. He grinned, feeling a bit more buoyant with yet another stressful transformation safely under his belt.

He stretched and cracked his back, twisting about to survey his surroundings. He was in a completely unfamiliar area. Sighing, he decided to take the woods to his left. With the sea to his right, it was his best bet. Hopefully he could find his way back to the tree hollow that he had stuffed his duffel and clothes into. Otherwise, he could only pray for a farm house with a clothesline. Sometimes he thought waking up completely nude was the worst part of this entire ordeal. It wasn't, really, though. The worst part of it, the part he saved for right before he turned, was the "what-if". The guilt and the worry of "what-if-i-kill". In those dark moments he could fully appreciate how Mitchell must feel ninety-nine percent of the time. "I don't have days off", Mitchell had once said. At the time, George had thought that seemed like quite a cop out, but every time he went through his own little guilt-ridden internal monologue he realized just how unbearable that must be.

George started into a bit of a jog, to ward off the cold as much as to cover ground. After only a few bounds ahead he stopped short, squinting at the far end of the field. His breath hitched in his chest and he felt a horrible, twisting sensation as his stomach dropped. Several yards ahead, lying half obscured by the bent grasses, was a dark shape. A distinctly _human_ shape.

"Oh, no." For a moment he stood, frozen. "Oh, no, no, no..." He was shaking as he forced himself to move forward. He crept toward the body, determined to face what he was sure he had done as the werewolf. The murky dawn light showed him what he least wanted to see; blood. There was a woman, face down, and she was covered with blood. It had congealed in her hair, matting her long, dark curls into clumps. It soaked her brown suede jacket until it shone like burnished leather. It was everywhere, covering everything. The very ground was saturated with it.

With an inhuman sound of misery, George knelt beside her, not even feeling the fresh lacerations on his knees from the unforgiving stalks below. He reached a shaking hand toward her arm. There was no reaction from her as he snatched at her cold wrist and pulled it closer. His fingers closed over where her pulse should be and he murmured a fervent prayer under his breath. "Oh please, oh please," but there was nothing. No beat, no rise and fall of her chest. There was nothing left of her but this shattered body. He had finally done it. He had killed.

George dropped the woman's limp arm and let out a keening sob. He was burying his head in his hands when he saw her flinch away from the sound. He leaped backward with a shocked cry and a pounding heart. _Not dead!_ His brain screamed with relief. He quickly knelt at her side again and reached gently around her shoulder to turn her onto her back. She cried out weakly, and George realized he was muttering an apology to her over and over.

He looked down at the bloody mess of her chest. Her coat had a jagged tear across the left and he could see the gaping wound beneath. There seemed to be no blood issuing from it, and no wonder, he couldn't believe that she had any left. He looked to her face and was amazed to see her conscious and a pair of sharp green eyes staring back at him. She didn't look to be afraid. Maybe she just didn't understand that he was the same monster that had attacked her. Her expression was almost curious, he thought.

He stretched his hand down to check her pulse again. He was going to have to move her and wanted to make sure that she was strong enough. His fingers fumbled about but were still unable to find the gentle thrum of blood in her veins. An odd look crossed his face as a new thought slowly began to take root. She watched him as though wondering if he would work out this little mystery on his own. Brow furrowed, he slid his shaking hand to her neck and pressed it to her still absent pulse.

"Oh God..." She was a vampire. Had to be. It was the only explanation.

Suddenly she let out a sharp laugh as she watched the realization dawn on his face. It ended in a gurgle of blood and she cringed into herself as it turned into a wracking, choking cough. She cried out in dismay as blood sprayed from her lips. Her slender body gave a shudder in his arms as her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.

Vampire or not, this was his doing and he would do everything he could to save her. Mitchell had told him once that vampires could indeed die if they bled out completely, and this one had to be very close to it.

He ripped off some remnants of her ruined jacket and used it to pack the huge tear in her chest. He gathered his arms beneath her and, with some strain, managed to heft her up as he stood. With no better plan, George headed into the woods, praying that he could find his bag with his mobile. All his senses still thankfully wolf-sharp, he did his best to find the scent of his own back trail.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nina? Nina? Oh, thank God!" Nina had just got out of the shower, her own transformation blissfully uneventful.

"George? Are you OK?" The sound of George's panicked voice on the phone froze the blood in her veins.

"I'm fine, it's... Can you just drive out to the wood where Mitchell dropped me? As fast as possible? Bring Mitchell too, if he's there. There's been a... Oh, God, I think I've almost killed someone!" George wailed into the phone.

"I'll be there." Nina was already out the door, keys in hand. She didn't bother to call for Mitchell. She was fairly certain he had gone walkabout again, his shift having ended two hours ago and the car parked out front with no sign of him.

She revved the Volvo and sped the ten miles out of town in record time. She turned sharply onto a forgotten dirt track and followed it until it gradually thinned and the car could no longer pass. Thick bracken grew in on all sides.

Nina slammed on the brakes and leaped out, already calling George's name. "George! George, where are you? I'm here!"

George stepped out of the woods ahead of her, carrying what was obviously a woman's body. Nina felt her heart jerk into her throat. "George, is she...?"

"Yes. No. It's complicated. We have to get her back to the house. We have to find Mitchell."

"Mitchell! We have to get her to a hospital! George! We can't cover this up, we have to help her!" Nina couldn't believe that George would suggest hiding this woman in the house when she was so obviously close to death. She was completely white, except for where she was red, which was everywhere. She was entirely caked with dirt and blood. Nina noted that her leather leggings and boots were almost completely worn through in some areas. Despite the gravity of the situation she found herself wondering where the woman had come from and why she had been out in the woods alone.

"No, Nina, you don't understand. She's a vampire. I must have attacked a vampire."

Nina's first thought was of the dog-fight hunters. "You don't think she could have been hunting you? For a fight?" She sputtered.

"I don't think so. I can't believe that any vampire would be foolish enough to go about hunting werewolves during a full moon. Look, just help me get her into the car, Mitchell is really our only hope here." George angled the unconscious vampire towards the car while Nina hurried to open the back door.

During the drive back, Nina risked a surreptitious glance at George. He looked miserable and positively grief stricken. A little introspection left Nina ashamed to say that she was really quite ambivalent about the potential loss of one more vampire. For George's sake, though, she would help to pull her through. She didn't think things had looked very promising, however. Nina trained the rearview mirror down toward the back seat to check on their guest, and was actually surprised to see the seat empty. Right, vampires, no reflections... Maybe she was a bit more shaken than she had realized.

It was mid-afternoon when they pulled up in front of the B&B that they now called home. How were they going to get a blood-covered, seemingly dead woman into the house without anyone taking note?

"Wait here," said George, flinging open the passenger door and running up the front walk. He returned shortly after, carrying a long, tattered coat, from under which he produced a half empty bottle of whiskey.

"Best I could do." he said, with an apologetic shrug.

"It's brilliant George! Come on," said Nina, comprehending the plan immediately. Together they pulled the vampire up to a sitting position and draped the coat over her shoulders. She moaned as they propped her up between them and steered her towards the house, the toes of her boots dragging over the pavement. George made sure to blatantly wave the whiskey bottle about at his side as Mrs. Jenkins next door popped her head over their shared wall and craned her neck for a better view.

"Bloody woman has no restraint," muttered Nina, giving a savage, toothy smile to their neighbor.

"...middle of the afternoon, no shame, such goings on..." They heard her mumble to herself as she shuffled back to her own door.

Once they were safely inside George hollered out for Mitchell. No answer. He grabbed up his phone, dialed his number and cursed as he heard ringing from the bar, where Mitchell's mobile was lying forgotten.

"Shit." he muttered. "Alright, lets just get her upstairs."

Nina looked up the long flight of narrow stairs and steeled herself for a struggle. She wasn't exactly built for this. By the time they were halfway up she was barely keeping pace with George. They were just passing Mitchell's room when she knew she could make it no further.

"George, I can't make it to the guest room, just get her to Mitchell's bed!"

They spilled the vampire onto the bed, eliciting another cry of pain. Nina was so exhausted that she almost tumbled on top, but George reached out a hand to steady her.

"Nina, do what you can, I'm going to find Mitchell." George said, and bounded out the door.

* * *

An obscuring fog had rolled in from the beach, turning the afternoon into a parody of early evening. Mitchell passed slowly under the sporadic street lights, creeping up the steep hill that lead back to Honolulu Heights. "Home". He scoffed bitterly at the thought. It would never feel like home, not like Windsor Terrace had, and it was his fault that they could never go back. So many things had happened all at once that he had easily been able to pass off the reason as being Annie's disappearance, but the truth was that he couldn't go back because of the Box Tunnel murder investigations. He was surprised now that Annie was back no one had suggested returning to Bristol, but perhaps that place had soured for all of them despite the temporary safe haven they had known there.

He paused under the yellow sodium glare, the eerie cast reminding him unpleasantly of the sickly green glow in the train car that had illuminated his most recent carnage. He closed his eyes as he leaned back against a wall to light a cigarette. Faces rose unbidden behind his closed lids as he played through the now familiar mantra of their names. The smiling faces from their obituaries flashed through him in twisted contrast to his own memories of their last moments of life.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the sound of running feet swiftly approaching, but was too lost in his own reverie to take any notice until George plowed into him and almost knocked him clean off his feet.

"Jesus, George, you almost knocked me arse over teakettle!" Mitchell exclaimed, annoyed, as he bent over to retrieve his cigarette, which had been knocked from his hand. He inspected the damage, frowned, and flicked it expertly back into the gutter. George was now tugging his arm roughly and pulling him toward the house.

"George, what's going on?" He asked, trying to shake him off with exasperation. George rambled off a high-pitched explanation, still half dragging Mitchell up the hill. By the time he was finished, Mitchell was hurrying to keep up of his own accord.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, I've got the whole thing written but I'm going to take a pause here just to see if anyone is still interested. I realize I'm a bit behind the times and using long gone characters, but they were just too fabulous to let go... Drop me a line!**

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Nina looked down at her charge and sighed. There was really only two things that she could think to do, and she wasn't about to bring some hapless victim in off the streets for her to feed on. The other option... She wouldn't let herself think about that just yet. Better to see if Mitchell knew anything that they didn't, first.

Nina thought she would at least clean her up a bit before she woke. She padded down the hall to the linen cupboard for some towels and a bucket of hot water from the tap. Pausing at the top of the stairs she called down, "Annie? You around? I could use some help if you are."

Annie popped up beside her wearing a pair of pink gardening gloves and her usual beaming smile.

"Nina! I thought I heard you come back. I was just in the garden, the birds have been at the tomatoes again so I was hanging some pie tins - " She stopped to consider Nina's face and the load that she was carrying. "Alright?"

"Not exactly," said Nina, leading her into Mitchell's room and explaining briefly what had happened. Annie crossed to the side of the bed and looked down at the blood covered woman with pity. Nina set about cleaning the wound and Annie gently wiped off some of the blood and dirt from her face.

"She's beautiful," Annie said sadly.

Nina snorted. "Of course she beautiful, she's a vampire. Did you ever notice they never bother to turn an ugly woman?" Annie gave her a slightly reproachful look.

Nina's brows knit in concentration as she irrigated the wound.

"Annie," she said, "look at this." She slowly pulled out a three inch spike. It was somewhat smooth, hard and rounded at the tip. It was obviously not a werewolf claw or a part of a wooden stake.

"What is it?" Annie asked.

"I... think it's the tip of an antler." Nina regarded the object with some confusion. She laid it down and looked up at the sound of pounding feet coming up the stairs. George burst into the room followed closely by a wary Mitchell.

"Alright, what do we do?" George turned to Mitchell with absolute faith that he could fix this and clear his conscience.

Mitchell sat gingerly down on the edge of the bed and studied the senseless vampire. She was beyond pale and had definitely lost too much blood. Her riot of dark curls were matted down and glistening. Her features were sharp and delicate, but even while relaxed in unconsciousness he thought he could see something wild and feral just under her skin. He was both intrigued and worried.

"She needs to feed, George. It's as simple as that." Mitchell sighed at the look of dismay on his friends face. "She doesn't have enough blood left for her body to heal itself any further. She's lucky it healed enough to stop bleeding at all." She must be very strong, he thought, again with a twinge of worry.

"This is a nightmare. I have to do something for her, this is all my fault!" George moaned and tore at his hair as he paced the room.

Mitchell absently took the injured vampire's cold hand and rubbed it between his own, as though he could stimulate some warmth and blood flow. His arched brows knit together as an idea began to take shape. It wasn't a particularly appealing notion, but it was as close to morally acceptable as he could come up with. He eyed Nina warily across the room, already anticipating the upcoming battle. Then his eyes fell on George and the terrible defeated look that he already wore upon his face. He knew that feeling well enough himself, and made up his mind to do everything he could to erase it from his friend. His plan would end up leaving him deeply indebted to a pair of vampires that he wouldn't ordinarily want to owe so much as a shilling to, but there was nothing else for it.

He gave her hand what he hoped was a reassuring pat and placed it gently back on the coverlet.

"We'll make it right, George, don't worry. I'm going out. Keep her still if she wakes so her chest doesn't reopen. As long as she doesn't loose any more blood she'll keep 'til I get back." George nodded eagerly and Mitchell forced the semblance of an easy smile for him. He avoided Nina and Annie's suspicious looks as he rose and walked to the door.

"Make sure all of you are here when I get back. I won't be able to help you with what comes next," He said, almost as an afterthought as he let himself quietly out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Mitchell pulled his Volvo up in front of what was easily the tackiest house on the island. His lip curled in distaste as he considered his current errand. Richard and Emma Hargrave were the most influential vampires that he knew in the Barry area and they had something that he needed. The fact that they would exact some sort of payment from him was a given. He didn't think that they would be able to turn down his request given the chance of having that much power over him. His skin crawled to think what they might demand in return. They were notoriously twisted. He would try to work a few boundaries into their bargain, but he didn't hold out much hope.

He went up the walk with his rolling gait and rang the bell. Moments later the door was flung open by Richard himself. Mitchell had expected one of their lackeys to answer. He supposed that this meant they were very interested in his visit.

"Mitchell! What brings you out our way? Taking the dogs for an outing? No? Come in, come in!" Richard's greedy eyes flashed as Mitchell stepped warily across the threshold.

Mitchell jerked a nod to Emma, who was perched against the bar and swirling about a large glass of what appeared to be drawn blood. She gave him a knowing smirk and raised her glass. He hoped that the blood hadn't been drawn too recently.

"So, I'm assuming we can attribute your visit to business and not pleasure," Richard lounged across the pristine white sectional and gestured for Mitchell to join him. Mitchell selected a chair directly across from him. Emma minced her way around to Richard's side and sat, legs curled beneath her, her predatory eyes never leaving Mitchell's face.

Mitchell closed his own eyes and decided to just come out with it. The constant posturing of vampires could be so absurd.

"I need to borrow Seven. With his agreement, of course." He lounged back with his boots crossed and watched as genuine surprised flashed across his hosts' faces. Whatever they had been expecting, it hadn't been that. He grinned.

Emma recovered first. "Oh, Mitchell! Off the wagon again. I'm sorry, but I'm sure we couldn't be accessories in promoting your addiction... It wouldn't be right." She smirked nastily.

Mitchell didn't bother to hide his sneer. "We both know this is a business transaction, and what I do with him is my business. All you need to know is that I'll return him to you unharmed, and that I'll require his services at least two times this week. With no additional draining or feeding from him in between. He'll need the recovery time."

He had definitely piqued their interest. They glanced at each other, communicating swiftly and silently in that way that only vampires who have been paired together for decades could do. Richard nodded. "Alright. And in return?"

"I won't kill."

"Well, that's not much fun."

"Take it or leave it."

Richard sat regarding Mitchell for a moment. He tapped his foot impatiently. Mitchell was betting on his curiosity getting the best of him. It was his only hope in gaining this important stipulation in their agreement. He knew they would find out from Seven about his services rendered, but first they would have to allow him to render them.

"One unnamed favor to be performed in future for a weeks use of Seven. Agreed."

"And no killing," Mitchell prompted.

"And no killing." Richard grudgingly amended.

"Cheers." Mitchell said, grinning broadly, and bounded from his seat, all wiry energy after winning his point. "When was the last time he was bled?" he asked.

"Oh, he's full to the bursting. We've been in Marseille for a month. Can't stand the tourists here this time of year, and French blood is so _rich_. Think it's all that butter... This way." Richard stood and led Mitchell down the stairs to the low ceilinged cellar and brought him to a halt in front of a small, red-lit room. "Alright, Seven?"

A man dressed completely in snugly fitting black vinyl rose up from the velvet feinting couch he had been lying across while flipping through a tabloid. A genuine smile lit his eager face. Mitchell hung back, bemused. George had mentioned that Seven loved his job, but still...

Richard pulled Mitchell forward, arm about his shoulders like old friends.

"Seven, this is John Mitchell. You may have heard of him?"

"Ooh, yes! I might have heard some things... Have I been bad?" Seven sidled up to Mitchell's side, his puppy-like smile practically splitting his face.

"I'll leave you to it then," Richard said, and strode up the stairs, obviously intent on pretending that Mitchell's business was of no interest to him.

Mitchell turned to Seven armed with what he hoped was a charming smile tinged with sadness. "Seven, I've come here to ask a favor of you. I need _your_ help. I have a friend. She's been injured and needs to feed. You'd be saving a life." Mitchell arranged his face into an expression of concern and supplication. "Please, could you help us?" he said, with just the right amount of pleading in his voice.

Seven's eyes were wide as he gazed up into Mitchell's earnest face. Being an integral part of the vampire world was what he lived for, even if it meant being used as a food supply.

"Oh, yes! The poor thing! Of course, how could I say no?"

Which was exactly what Mitchell had been counting on.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh Lord, what is taking him so long?" George paced Mitchell's room, his hands occasionally rubbing his face in distraction.

"George, stop. He said she wouldn't get any worse, she'll hold." Annie draped a soft, ghostly arm about his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. His vocal range was gradually starting to rise and she wanted to head him off before he got off on a George-style blow-out. She patted his shoulder and felt him jump as they heard the front door slam below followed by someone bounding up the stairs.

Mitchell flung the door wide and burst into the room, causing Nina to start. The look of worry on his face cleared when he saw that the vampire in his bed seemed unchanged. He lowered himself down next to her and smoothed back errant curls. She turned her head toward him as though trying to nuzzle his hand and a strange look passed over his face.

"She never woke up?" he asked.

"No, not once." George answered.

Mitchell nodded and stood back up. He squared his shoulders into an almost defensive posture. "Look, I'm only going to say this once. This is the best I could do. There can't be any black and white moral high ground here." He looked directly at Nina. "Either she feeds or she dies."

"What have you done?" Nina began. "You didn't..." Mitchell held up a gloved hand to stop her.

"Seven, come in please," he called quietly.

Seven peered timidly around the door frame, as if unsure of his reception.

"Hello again," he gave a tentative smile to Nina and George. Nina's mouth dropped open and she rounded on Mitchell.

"_This_ is your expert vampire solution that we've all been waiting for? To just chuck her someone to eat? Christ, you think it makes it _alright_ just because he's _willing_?"

Mitchell set his jaw. It never took much for him to have Nina at his throat. He glanced at the bed and saw that the sound of Nina's outburst seemed to be breaking through the wounded vampire's deep sleep. She was beginning to twist and moan. He sat down again and murmured reassuringly to her, his voice soft and lilting. As he stroked her hair and she settled once more, he turned back to George, Nina and Annie.

"It's not my intention that Seven be completely drained. She's going to have to do this gradually, in courses. She'll be in pain longer this way, but he'll have a couple days between feedings to recover, and she can heal slowly. It can work. There's no other way."

George and Annie nodded in understanding and agreement. Nina stared hard at Mitchell, then gave a grudging shrug, only slightly mollified.

George raised a question. "What did you mean when you said you can't help with what comes next? What do we need to do?"

Mitchell ran his hand through his dark, unruly hair and looked at his friend.

"You're going to have to get a mortally wounded vampire to stop in mid-feed. She won't want to stop, her body knows it needs the blood. She's going to be strong. Don't make the mistake of thinking she'll be easy to get off just because she's injured, the bloodlust will take care of that."

"But Mitchell, you're stronger than any of us -" Annie started.

"No." Mitchell said flatly. He looked down, shamefaced. "No, I can't be in the room when she starts."

George nodded, blinking back grateful tears. Unable to hold back any longer he stepped to his friend and caught him up in a thankful hug. Mitchell patted his shoulder and smiled.

"You can do it," he said reassuringly. "She'll zero in on the smell of human blood. She won't want to bite a werewolf. Nick Seven's finger and put a drop to her lips when you're ready, it will wake her instinct even if she's still out cold." He turned to leave, then paused with his hand on the doorknob. Turning to Seven, he said, "When she hits, she's going to hit hard. It's going to hurt. I'm sorry for that."

Seven nodded bravely, still smiling his eager little smile.

Mitchell let himself out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Once free of his room he let out a shaking breath. He wondered if he could wait out here, where he could still hear what was going on. He looked down at the hand still holding the doorknob and saw a slight tremor. Frowning, he hurried down the stairs, caught up his dark canvas coat and let himself out to sit on the front steps. He hunched over with his elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands, and waited.


	6. Chapter 6

The door clicked shut behind Mitchell and the room was briefly silent. Annie walked over to Seven and took his hand with a pat and a gentle smile.

"I'm Annie. I've heard so much about you, Seven."

"Pleasure, Annie - "

"Urgh!" Nina cut in with an exasperated snort and threw up her hands. "Look, Seven, I don't know what Mitchell told you to get you here, but you don't have to do this. Do you understand that?"

Seven gave her a slightly bemused look. "I know that. Mitchell was very clear that it was my decision. I wouldn't dream of saying no, she needs _me_." He beamed proudly down at the figure beginning to stir on the bed.

"Right, well, if we're all through with the pleasantries and introductions, could we maybe get started? Only she's starting to come around," said George.

Seven came and sat beside her, just within reach. As he did, she turned her head sharply toward him and became still. Her lips parted slightly and she breathed in, as though scenting the air with her tongue. Seven eyed her nervously in spite of his earlier declaration.

"Nina and I will take either side and pull her off. Annie, try to pull her head back gently when we're ready to stop so she doesn't cause Seven any more damage than necessary. Nina, after Seven's free, help him out of the room and patch him up. Annie and I will keep her back for as long as we have to until you're clear. And for God's' sake, don't take him anywhere near Mitchell while he's bleeding. This has obviously got him a bit riled." George took command, surprising everyone in the room.

"O- Ok," stammered Nina, and took her place at the opposite side of the bed. She looked at George with more than a little admiration.

"Wait, we need something sharp to draw blood with," George said, remembering Mitchell's suggestion.

"What about this?" Annie held up a wooden spike, a little bigger than a sharpened pencil. "It was in her jacket lining."

George narrowed his eyes. Surely a miniature wooden stake was an odd thing for a vampire to be carrying around? He looked at the stranger on the bed and for the first time wondered exactly who this was that they were going to be bringing back. She was obviously lethal in more ways than one. He met Nina's warning eyes across the bed and shook off the thought.

"I think that will do, Annie."

Annie passed the small stake to Seven.

"Ready?" Seven asked. Receiving three nods in the affirmative, he pressed the point to the tip of his finger until a single red drop welled to the surface. Tilting his head aside to expose his neck, he touched his blood lightly to her lips.

The effect was immediate. With eyes still closed and fangs bared, she launched herself at his throat with frightening accuracy. She struck hard and wild, slamming into him as Mitchell had said she would. Even though he had been expecting it, Seven gasped aloud at the savagery of the attack. Nina looked ready to yank the vampire back immediately, but George looked at her steadily and shook his head.

The vampire drank greedily, her desperation plain. From Annie's vantage point behind her, she watched with horror while her throat worked convulsively as she fed. It was horrible to see, and worse to hear. There was a low, growling hum coming from the back of her throat. Seven gave a moan, already sounding weaker. Annie saw the feeding woman move her arm slightly and watched, curious, as she drew Seven's right wrist into her hand. And was it her imagination or had the greedy, sucking noises started to slow? She looked at George, who was sitting on Seven's right, to see if he had noticed. She saw that he was also watching that gently probing hand with interest.

Nina had just opened her mouth to call a stop when the vampire abruptly wrenched herself away with a pained cry and threw herself as far back on the bed as she could. She doubled over with the pain that her sudden movement had caused, clutching at her chest with one hand and clamping the other over her mouth and nose. Her eyes flashed open, jet black, drawn instantly to Seven's still gushing vein. She screwed her eyes shut and waved an arm desperately in his direction. Nina immediately took the hint and quickly propelled the woozy Seven from the room.

George reached a shaking hand out to calm the vampire, who was now choking back pained sobs and doubled over on her knees clutching at the headboard. Annie, not knowing what else to do, began to gently stroke her back and hair, murmuring words of comfort. They gently guided her back down onto the bed, where she lay curled up protectively and moaning. George pulled her hand away from the wound and saw the gaping hole slowly knitting itself back together. As he watched, its progress seemed to slow and then halt. He hoped it was because she had only had a partial feeding, but wanted to check with Mitchell and relay all that they had seen. Her apparent ability to stop mid-feed had filled him with questions, none of them pleasant.

"Annie, grab a fresh blanket from the closet," he said, tugging the blood covered covers from the bed. "I'm going to go get Mitchell."

Carrying the bloody blanket, he went down the hall to check on Nina and Seven. He found them in the bathroom, applying a heavy gauze bandage to the side of Seven's blood-streaked neck. "How is he?" he asked.

"It's not torn. It's actually a very neat wound, considering. He should heal up fine." Nina said, dabbing at Seven with a cotton ball.

"No worse than any other." Seven smiled. George would not have been surprised if he had shot him a big thumbs up.

"How is...she?" Nina asked, almost reluctant.

"It's healed partially. She's still in pain, and now she's awake to feel it. I need to bring Mitchell up," answered George, stuffing the bloody covers he had been carrying into the shower stall and pulling the curtain closed. He went downstairs and then outside, where Mitchell was still waiting.

Mitchell raised his head up out of his hands at the sound of the door opening. George sat down heavily on the step beside him, knees drawn up and hands dangling limply between them. Mitchell turned to George and waited for him to speak. When he finally did, it wasn't anything that he had expected to hear.

"She let go." George said simply, letting the words imply everything he felt. He leaned his head back against the door. "What does that mean?"

"What?" Mitchell asked, sure he wasn't understanding properly.

"She let go. Before we told her to. Before we even tried to pull her off. What does that mean? What kind of vampire can do that?" He turned a pained face to Mitchell. "Can _you_ do that? _Could_ you have done that? All those times...?"

Mitchell stared at George, shocked. "You think I wouldn't have..." He couldn't finish his sentence, he was so hurt by the accusation. "You think I'm just not trying, is that it? You think I just wake up some mornings and say, 'Well, this is getting a bit hard, I think I'll make today the day I let it all go to shite?'"

"No, Mitchell, that's not what I think! I would never think that you _purposely_ let it happen. I - I just don't understand how she did it, now, while you..." George left his sentence hanging and had the good grace to look embarrassed.

Mitchell stared at him and slowly rose to his feet. Without another word he opened the door and stepped inside, leaving George alone on the stoop. Once in the hallway he leaned woodenly against the wall and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Annie was bustling about the living room, plying Seven with warm cups of tea and propping his feet with a pillow. She saw Mitchell leaning dejectedly against the wall and rushed to his side.

"Hey, it's OK! Didn't George tell you? It went off without a hitch! We didn't even have to pull her off, It was a great idea. Seven says he feels fine and he'll be ready again in a couple of days." Annie chirped, and gave him what should have been a reassuring hug. He managed a weak smile for her and said, "Thanks, Annie. I'll just go upstairs and see how she's doing, then."


	7. Chapter 7

She lay in the bed that smelled of the other vampire. She couldn't remember her time or place. There was nothing in her world except the pain... and that scent. The healing was a fiery itch deep within her chest. She longed to scratch it, to tear it open and stop the burn. Instead, she concentrated on pulling in deep, unnecessary breaths to draw herself away from it. In. And out. She coiled herself tightly around the burn and breathed in his scent again. She kept all her cries and screams locked inside, sure that she could never put back the pieces if she broke down. She only breathed... and waited to be fed.

* * *

Nina looked up as Mitchell let himself quietly into the room. He said nothing, just started with an inscrutable expression at the impossibly still figure on the bed. Nina thought he seemed tense, and that it obviously had something to do with their guest. She had expected him to go to her, as he had seemed drawn to do before, but he stayed by the door, watching.

_It must be the blood_, she thought. He could probably still smell it on her despite her and Annie's efforts to clean away every last bit. "Mitchell, I need to ask you something. Do you remember much from when you were in hospital last year?"

Mitchell grunted an affirmative.

"Did the anesthetics help any with the pain? Or was it different... for you?" Nina asked, keeping her voice gentle. She hated to dredge up that painful incident in his past when he had nearly been staked by Herrick.

Mitchell looked toward the bed again, this time with definite compassion in his eyes. He turned back to Nina and managed to both nod and shake his head.

"Sort of. A bit. But not like they work for a human. It should take the edge off, though. Make it more bearable."

A timid knock at the door announced the arrival of George. Mitchell moved closer to the bed so as not to block the door. He kept his back to George and stood with his arms crossed, the muscle in his jaw visibly tightening. Nina could see that there was clearly some trouble in paradise.

"Right, George, I need to pop down to the hospital. We need pain killers. That wound isn't even fully closed, how she's keeping quiet like this I'll never know." Nina went to George and stood on tiptoe to give him a swift peck on her way out the door.

"Erm..." said George to Mitchell's back once Nina was gone. He took off his glasses and began to pick at a non-existent spot. "Erm" wasn't enough of an apology for Mitchell, however, and he gave him no response.

"I'm sorry," said George, "I was being a prat. You have no idea how sorry I am that I said those things after everything you've done. I know Emma and Richard didn't help us for nothing. I know there was some cost. Whatever it is, I'll do it, I'll pay it."

"It's alright, George." Mitchell said, sighing and turning to face him. "It's not as bad as all that. There's nothing owed," he lied.

"I don't believe you. I'm not daft. You might as well come off it and tell the truth."

"There's nothing you can do, George. It's for me. All I ask is that you understand when I have to do it, whatever it may be."

George swallowed awkwardly and nodded, unable to meet Mitchell's eyes. It seemed that there was no escape from the guilt. Mitchell gave him a small, rueful smile, full of understanding. He knew about guilt.

"I told them I wouldn't kill. I made sure of that. They weren't too keen on it, but they were dying to know what I was up to. You should have seen them, stumbling all over themselves to look like they didn't care. Sheer nosiness will be their undoing one day, I wager." He grinned broadly at George, his mood flashing back to jovial. The speed at which he could swing from highs to lows and back again always left George dizzy. Mitchell invariably skipped any emotional middle ground. George wasn't always sure if that was a good thing, but it did make it next to impossible for his friend to hold a grudge for any extended period of time.

George laughed with him. "I don't think there's any shortage of crazy things that could eventually lead to their demise. If that's what eternity does to you, makes you mad as a..." he trailed off, realizing that that line of thought was probably in poor taste for present company. Mitchell rolled his eyes, but didn't look overly affronted by his faux pas. _Can't hold a grudge_, George thought again as he grinned at him. "Sorry."

Their attention turned to the still form on the bed. "D'you think she can hear us?" asked George. "Is she awake? She was at first, but now... She should be crying, she should be... Not that I _want_ her in pain, but..."

Mitchell held up his palm to shush him. He crouched down at the side of the bed and gazed intently at her face. It was anything but relaxed. There was tension in the set of her mouth and in her arms, which were wrapped protectively about her chest.

"She's definitely awake. I can't tell if she's aware of us, she's so closed off." Mitchell thought he could still see that wildness lurking behind her set features, like something caged and pacing it's bars. He wondered if the others could sense it as well. He was reaching out to her without even realizing that he was doing it when her eyes suddenly snapped open. He drew in a sharp breath and they focused on him in an instant. For a moment they seemed frozen, aware only of each other. Mitchell felt pinned down by her gaze and was unable to break it. His hand slowly continued toward her, stretching out his fingers to brush away stray strands of hair that were obscuring her face. As his questing fingers brushed against her she flinched and cried out, clutching at her chest, her intense control over herself and the pain broken.

Mitchell snatched his hand away and stumbled backwards, unsure what he had done to hurt her. She was writhing and twisting, the covers torn away. He was afraid that she would start herself bleeding again and stepped forward, arm outstretched to reassure her.

"Go!" she spat out, the first word she had spoken to any of them. She flung an accusing arm toward Mitchell and the door. He stood with his mouth open for a moment until he felt George push past him.

"Just go and send Annie up, she can help me calm her down!" George commanded, leaning over for her to clutch at his hand. As Mitchell backed out of the door he saw her clenching and unclenching her fingers over George's hand and gritting her teeth against a scream of pain. He took the stairs two at a time, calling for Annie. She appeared at the bottom, looking alarmed.

"Go help George!" he said, and to his relief she popped out without asking for an explanation. He didn't think he could have given her one anyway. He wasn't sure what had happened himself.

Feeling useless, he wandered over to where Seven was sitting on the sofa and dropped down heavily beside him. He randomly selected a cup of tea from the table just to have something to do with his hands and ran a replay in his mind to see where he had gone wrong. Seven watched him apprehensively. This was not a happy vampire. Finally, Mitchell mentally threw up his hands in defeat. He looked up and found Seven watching him with interest.

"I'm sorry, Seven. I really should have thought to take you home. You must be tired as hell."

"No worries. How is our little friend?"

Mitchell smiled tightly. "On the mend. You're a hero, Seven." He paused, thinking. "Seven, how do Richard and Emma stop when they feed from you?"

"Oh, they do it in teams, there's always someone there to help. A spotter, if you will. And they're never hungry enough to lose complete control. I keep them very well fed." He grinned proudly at Mitchell.

Mitchell sighed. "Let's get you home to rest, we'll give it another go day after tomorrow. Remember, you're off limits. No one else feeds from you, you couldn't take it right now." Seven smiled his thanks and let Mitchell help him out to the car.

Mitchell drove Seven up to the Hargrave's door and helped him up the walk. As he turned to leave he couldn't help but chuckle as he glimpsed Richard and Emma peering from behind a pair of hideous curtains. Looking for some clue as to his doings, no doubt. Well, Seven would soon relieve their curiosity. Mitchell had told him that there was no need for secrecy, not wanting to cause any unnecessary trouble for him if he didn't tell them what they wanted to know. He didn't entirely understand the dynamics of their oddly symbiotic relationship.

God, but he was tired. All he wanted was a hot shower and a cigarette. He decided to start with his second objective and pulled out a packet of smokes as he slid behind the wheel. It was the first time he had been alone since this whole mess began. If there had been one good thing about it, it was that it had at kept him busy for once. Busy enough not to hear the pleading voices in his head, or the sound of screaming brakes on the lines. Busy enough not to see the rows of bloody faces turned toward him and illuminated by the sickly green glow of the train lights. The images came flooding back to him now, inexplicably mixed with a vision of an accusing arm waving him out of his room. He laughed bitterly. He was such a monster that even the other monsters couldn't stand his presence.

He slipped the car into drive and headed for home. It was all that he could think to do.


	8. Chapter 8

George, Nina and Annie were all gathered around the TV when Mitchell let himself in. They appeared to be far too interested in teleshopping, however, so he highly suspected that they had been discussing him and his recent banishment from his room. Three pairs of eyes turned innocently towards him.

"Hey," said George. "Look, I'm sorry about your room, it's just that Nina and I couldn't get her any further when we carried her in."

Mitchell shrugged. "S'ok, I'll make up the guest bed. How is she now?" he asked, fiddling with the edge of his jacket to avoid their searching eyes.

"I think she's finally asleep, I managed to sneak out some anesthetics and they seem to be helping." Nina answered.

He nodded. "That's good. I'm just going to head up for a quick shower." He looked at them, embarrassed. "Would someone grab me a change of clothes? It's probably best if I don't go back in just now."

"I'll get them for you," Annie said, and she popped out of sight. She returned shortly with a fresh pair of jeans, a flannel, v-neck and shorts to sleep in.

"Thanks, Annie," Mitchell said, giving her a tired smile. He stumbled tiredly up the stairs, almost dead on his feet.

He had been gone only a few minutes when George suddenly sat bolt upright. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and charged up after Mitchell. Nina and Annie exchanged bemused looks and shrugged.

George rounded the corner to the bathroom just in time to see Mitchell pull open the shower curtain. He flinched back as though someone had physically hit him and scrambled up against the pedestal sink. George scooted past him and grabbed up the forgotten bloody covers that he had left in the shower stall earlier.

"Jesus," said Mitchell through clenched teeth and clutching at the towel that was about to fall from his waist. "All I wanted was a relaxing shower."

"Sorry! Sorry! Completely my fault," George said, scrambling out with the offending blanket and giving Mitchell a wide berth.

Mitchell sat down wearily on the toilet seat after he heard the soft snick of the door closing behind George. Jesus, was he that weak? Here he was losing it at the sight and smell of a bloody blanket while _she_ had the strength to stop herself mid-feed during a full on bloodlust. He'd never heard of a vampire doing that before, but then he'd never known of any who would have bothered to try. The closest he'd ever experienced was when turning a new vampire. When he had turned Lauren he'd managed to stop just before her death, so that she could feed from him. By then he had been full, and stopping had still been just barely possible for him.

He sighed. There was just no making sense of their mystery woman right now. Or of himself, if he was being completely honest. Feeling dispirited, he turned the tap all the way to hot and stepped into the comforting steam.

* * *

Time flowed through her, sluggish backwaters of years, decades, and centuries. Rivers of blood, blood and more blood. Faces distorted in screams, and, later, the panicked rolling eyes of something wild and fleet. That feeling of running, wind in her hair, as she chased down the thick warm scent of blood and fear. Coarse hair on her tongue as she burst through tough, warm skin with her teeth. The hot spurt of life blood. Then nothing. Years of nothing. A decade of only emptiness and survival, until surviving became just another automatic reflex. A throwback to life, like breathing.

She tried to crawl back to the nothingness, away from the pain in her chest and the turmoil in her head. Away from discordant and incomplete thoughts. But that _scent _... It tugged at her mercilessly. It played the vision of deep brown eyes over and over. Eyes filled with compassion. Eyes filled with warmth. Hurt. Guilt. Anger. Flashing between emotions so quickly that it made her head spin. They woke her, those eyes. They pulled her from her self-imposed exile. She concentrated on blocking them out, and on courting the blackness that still lingered.

But there was still that _scent_.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a day and a half since her first feeding and she remained silent and immobile. George stayed by her side whenever possible in case she woke. Nina suspected that she was really awake most of the time, but kept it to herself. She knew George was waiting to ask her about anything she remembered from that night and to pepper her with apologies. Mitchell, for his part, didn't risk any more trips to his room and let the others tend to her. He would limit his role to delivering Seven to and from his feeding sessions. Later, of course, there would be Richard and his unnamed favor.

When he next went to collect Seven, Mitchell was again greeted at the door by Richard. _Curiosity not completely satisfied, then_, he thought, smirking.

"Mitchell! I hear that you're hosting a guest! Have you turned that hideous B&B into a supernatural hostel? Only I have some friends looking for a place on holiday..." Oh, Richard was dying to know who their mystery woman was. So was Mitchell, actually.

"Just a one-of visit I'm afraid. Seven ready?" Mitchell wasn't looking to make conversation, as much as he enjoyed to torture Richard.

"Now hold on! Just who is this mysterious woman you keep locked away in your bedroom? I think as part of the local vampire community we have a right to know who will be wandering our streets, especially if they're armed to the teeth with wooden stakes." Mitchell frowned. What was this about stakes? He refused to let on that Richard knew something that he didn't.

"Mitchell, really, just a name!"

"I haven't got one to give you." Mitchell grinned widely. How he loved to see Richard dance! "I'll just collect Seven, then..." he said, taking a step toward the door.

"Oh, wait right there," said an annoyed Richard, and he shut the door in Mitchell's face. Seven joined him shortly after, and, still faintly amused, Mitchell drove him back to the house.

* * *

"Alright, same as before. There's no telling if she'll stop herself again." Annie, George and Nina got into their positions. Seven settled down on the bed, beside the dozing vampire, ready with a needle to prick his finger. Nina leaned down and gave their patient a gentle shake. Her eyes snapped open, feral and alert. Nina saw them shift smoothly from green to black as they settled on Seven's exposed throat. They wouldn't be needing the needle.

"Let him go, like you did before. He's here to help you," Nina whispered to her. She thought she saw some comprehension in her face as the vampire pushed herself up, eyes still locked on Seven. She rose up slowly behind him, snakelike, with the true grace of a predator stalking its prey. Nina shivered as she saw her mouth open and expose her fully extended fangs. Seven screwed his eyes shut in anticipation of her attack, but she lowered her mouth to his throat gently, almost in a caress. When her fangs pierced his skin he hardly felt anything at all, only the gentle pull of her feeding. Again her hand sought his wrist. It was obvious to them now that she was gauging his pulse, waiting for the blood flow to reach that crucial point where she would have to stop. The throaty, rumbling purr sounded from her again and Seven moaned.

She didn't let the blood come in a rush as she had before. She drank deeply, slowly, relishing the sensation. It was so good, and it had been so long. This slower feeding would also be easier on Seven. The consistent throb in his wrist began to slow slightly. She pushed on, not wanting to necessitate a third feeding, and took him as close to the edge as she dared. Just when Seven's eyes were beginning to droop and he looked on the verge of unconsciousness, she abruptly retracted her fangs and turned her face away. Nina caught Seven neatly as he fell back against her.

The vampire arched back as she felt the wound beginning to knit closed again. That was all she was aware of for some time, the itch of healing and blackness creeping in. She concentrated on keeping herself in the present. There was something she needed to do. She focused on the screaming faces that rose in her vision, willing them to help draw out some long forgotten emotion.

George was watching her face intently when he saw a single tear roll from her eye. "Wait!" she cried out. Nina, who had been helping a greatly weakened Seven from the room, paused at the door. The vampire gestured them nearer. "Please," she said.

George went to help Nina seat Seven back on the bed. Any more draining of blood could kill him and they stood ready to push the vampire back if that was her intention. They watched in trepidation, but she only raised a hand to brush away the tear with her fingertip. She inclined herself toward Seven and brought the hand with the glistening drop up to his throat. Gently she smeared it across the blood spattered puncture wounds that she had left.

Annie peered around her shoulder for a better view, and her eyes widened as she saw Seven's wounds begin to instantly close. George gasped aloud and Nina drew in a sharp breath. The vampire seemed to give a tight smile of satisfaction before falling back on the covers, exhausted. The room was quiet. What had they just seen happen?

* * *

Outside in the hallway, Mitchell looked up at the sudden silence. He had felt a little more in control of himself this time around, and was waiting, legs crossed, on the floor beside the door. His curiosity was getting the better of him and he wanted to be near when she was able to speak. They didn't even know her name.

He was just about to get up and knock when Nina maneuvered Seven out the door. Mitchell looked up from the ground, questioning.

"You can go in. You should have a look, the wound is completely healed, but she still seems to be going in and out of consciousness. Or in and out of reality, anyway. And she -" Nina started to say something else, but broke off when Seven slumped further against her. "Sorry, excuse me," she said, and began to drag Seven toward the guest room. Mitchell hurried up to help her. There was no way that tiny Nina would be able to get him all the way down the hall by herself. As he slid an arm under Seven's he looked down at his bloody neck. At first the smell hit him hard, but he closed his eyes briefly and fought it down. Nina watched nervously, and was relieved to see a flash of warm brown when he opened them again. Mitchell frowned and looked back at Seven's throat. There were no fang marks. "Nina..." he began, "did she bite him someplace else?"

"That's the other thing." Nina was gasping under Seven's weight. He had gone almost completely limp between them but was still breathing steadily. "She sort of... healed him."

"What d'you mean _healed him_?" Mitchell asked, his Irish accent coming in thick in his confusion. "We can't heal people."

"Well, she can. Have you ever tried?"

"Wha... No, I bloody well haven't tried, I'm a vampire, not a wizard! I wouldn't even know where to begin!" They were in the guest room now, and began to ease Seven onto Mitchell's temporary bed. It looked like it would be the couch for him tonight.

"Oomph," said Nina, finally released from her burden. She helped Mitchell swing Seven's feet up onto the bed and busied herself checking his vitals. He seemed to be stable enough, only greatly weakened. Mitchell was waiting, annoyed that she didn't elaborate. "Well," Nina started when she had finally finished fussing over Seven, "she sort of healed him with tears, I guess. She let out one tear and dabbed it over the holes and they closed right up. It was amazing. Are you sure you can't do that?" She cocked her head and looked at him.

Mitchell let out an exasperated noise from the back of his throat. It seemed all anyone ever did anymore was accuse him of being a shitty vampire. Maybe they all just thought he was a slow learner. He threw his hands into the air and stalked out of the room.

He found himself stopping outside his bedroom door, too used to retreating there when he was upset. He took a deep breath and let himself quietly in. Keeping his distance and hovering near the door, he watched. She lay on the bed mostly still, but murmuring odd, guttural words that he didn't recognize under her breath. He looked at George, who shook his head. It wasn't any language that he was familiar with, although it sounded slightly Gaelic. Mitchell felt that familiar desire to go to her side but fought the urge.

George came over to him. "She seems to come around occasionally, but not for very long. When she does, sometimes it's like she's not even aware of us."

"We also found this earlier. We thought you might know why she would have such a thing." said Annie, pulling out the small stake that she had found and handing it over to Mitchell.

Mitchell turned the smooth wooden spike over in his hands thoughtfully. He didn't want to cause them any alarm, but the only reason for a vampire to be carrying a stake was the same as for anyone else to have one. Was she being hunted by other vampires?

"Why don't you both go and take a break. I'll watch her for a while. I'll call you if I get the boot again." He said with a wry smile.

Annie and George nodded their thanks and wandered down to the kitchen. Mitchell lingered near the door, still hesitant to go any closer to the bed. Their mystery woman lay on her side, curled into a slightly fetal position. She was so small, possibly Nina's size. Her wild mass of dark curls seemed out of place on such a tiny person. As he watched, he thought he saw the rise and fall of her chest quicken.


	10. Chapter 10

She could smell him again, the other vampire. It was stronger now, no longer coming only from the pillows. He was in the room. She fought her way to awareness, wanting to see him again, wanting to see all those rich emotions that he displayed continually in his eyes. All those things that she hadn't felt in years. Just having him this close was enough to wake her. It made her unable to black out the world around her any longer. She opened her eyes and breathed him in, tasting the air with parted lips.

* * *

Mitchell stood transfixed. Looking into her eyes he felt that overwhelming pull to go to her, to touch her. He crossed the room slowly, testing her reaction to his presence. She watched his approach, seeming aware and focused for the first time. She whispered in that odd, other language, then said, "Come."

She pushed herself up in one fluid motion, her strength obviously returned. There was some blood down the front of her shirt, but not as much as there should have been. Mitchell slid onto the bed smiling gently and trying to seem reassuring. He realized that he badly wanted to know her name, to possess even some small knowledge of who she was.

"Mitchell," he said, and gestured to himself. He wasn't entirely sure how much English she might understand. She seemed to consider him a moment, then said "Elise." He smiled broadly, pleased to have a name to call her at last.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" he asked gently.

Her face clouded up and she wore a furrow of deep concentration. "A stag. He turned. He was afraid of something. Something behind... a werewolf." Her face cleared and she smiled as though pleased she had been able to come up with the answer. Her smile faded quickly, though, and a vagueness seemed to settle over her.

"Elise?" She shook her head as if warding off any more questions. She looked down at herself and suddenly seemed very aware of Seven's blood on her shirt. "Get it off," she said, and began to tug at the hem in agitation.

"I'll send Annie and Nina in. They'll help you get cleaned up. And if you feel up to it after, you could come down with us?" He took her hand as he spoke, unaware of what he was doing until he brought it up to his lips. She stared at him wordlessly, and again he saw that flash of wildness leap momentarily into her eyes. He rose to fetch Annie and Nina. As he left the room her vague mask slipped back over her features. She was gone again.

* * *

Annie drew the bath, steaming hot, as per Mitchell's instructions. She was eager to get her hands on Elise's long hair and ease its mats and tangles. She had gathered up an arsenal of shampoos, conditioners, brushes and combs.

Nina led Elise into the bathroom, tucked up into a pink fluffy bath towel. Annie was surprised to see that the vampire was not much taller than Nina was, maybe 5'3 if she was lucky. Her figure was lithe, lean, and well muscled, making her appear taller than she actually was.

They helped her into the bath and she immediately slipped down under the hot water, completely submerging. It was slightly alarming to Annie to see her stay under for so long even though she knew that she was technically already dead. When she finally surfaced, Annie clapped her hands together in excitement.

"Now! About that hair..."

Elise blinked at her.


	11. Chapter 11

"There, George, you see? It was just a hunting accident. You're like a furry Dick Cheney." Mitchell laughed, lounging back on the sofa with George, boots propped on the table.

George frowned. "So... you're saying I didn't attack her?"

"Sounded like you were after the stag and it turned and gored her while trying to get away."

George let out a breath. "I shouldn't feel relieved. It could easily have been me."

Mitchell found his mind wandering. He kept thinking of that brief smile, wild and proud. He wondered if he could get another one out of her. He intended to try.

"Mitchell?"

"Hmn?" He jerked his head up off the hand he had been leaning on to see George staring at him expectantly.

"I said, 'Did you ask her about the stake? Or the... healing?'"

"No. No, there wasn't time. She... Something still seems off. She has trouble focusing. But then she seems to come back to herself sometimes. I'm not sure what to make of it, exactly." Mitchell said, frowning slightly.

"'Exactly'?" asked George, picking up on the uncertainty.

"I've got a theory."

"Do tell."

"Well. Remember Ivan?"

George snorted. Yes, he bloody well remembered Ivan.

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Ivan was 237 years old. I don't know when it started happening to him but he seemed not to... feel. Like his emotions were blunted, I expect. When he tried to stop blood he said it was because he wanted to feel 'pure sensation', even if it was the pain that comes from withdrawal."

"So you think it's because she's like Ivan?"

"Older, maybe. Ivan never seemed that lost." _Or powerful_, he thought, remembering the pull he always felt whenever he was around her. Was it power or attraction? He wasn't sure.

"Ok, so what are we going to do with her? We can't just send her back out there the way she is. Do you have, you know, vampire psychiatrists or something?" Mitchell shot George a dirty look.

"Let me spend some time with her. Maybe I can get through." George squinted at Mitchell, suddenly suspicious. Mitchell awkwardly avoided his look.

"For goodness sake, I can't bring a female into this house, can I?" George exploded, his voice climbing an octave. "I assume you have some better notion than chatting up a slightly insane vampire?"

Mitchell was about to stutter a lame defense when Annie called out from the top of the stairs. "Attention boys! Drumroll, please!"

They came down the stairs, Nina and Annie leading Elise, who seemed a bit reluctant to make her appearance. They had dressed her in grey leggings and a soft, sheer green tunic cinched at the waist with a wide brown belt. Her feet were bare. None of Nina's shoes had fit her. Her hair exploded in satin waves around her, almost reaching the small of her back. She had apparently drawn the line when Annie had attempted makeup, but was no less beautiful for that. Mitchell actually stood with an air of long forgotten gallantry when she entered the room. George glanced at him with amusement. It was little things like that that sometimes reminded him that his friend was actually 117 years old.

George looked back to Elise as she entered the room. Her eyes were absently scanning her surroundings, more out of a habit of observation than any real interest, it seemed. When they lit upon the Hawaiian mural on the back wall he thought he saw a flicker of amusement, but it was too fleeting to be sure.

Mitchell took a step toward her and she zeroed in on his movement. Their eyes locked and George saw her shake off the haze that seemed to cling to her and focus on Mitchell. Oh yes, there was definitely something there. It made George slightly uneasy. The last thing Mitchell needed was to fall for a still feeding, deranged vampire. Mitchell had taken Elise's hand to lead her to the sofa and the smile on his guileless face was completely for her. Inwardly, George groaned.

George got up and went to kneel in front of Elise. "Do you remember me?" he asked.

"Yes. You helped me." She sniffed at the air lightly. "And you're the werewolf. I remember you."

"I just... I wanted you to know how sorry I am." George said, a slight hitch in his voice. "I never meant..."

Elise patted his hand and smiled absently. It seemed to be a dismissal of the entire incident. She stood and began to walk around the room, hands trailing over little inconsequential objects; cups of cold tea and coffee, a stack of vinyl records... She took it all in. You could learn so much about people just from the detritus of their daily lives. Her mind wandered as she picked up a wooden keepsake box from the bookcase. It reminded her of something she had seen before... Her treacherous mind turned back time on her once more. She was no longer in the living room with them. She was in another house filled with other people's things. Things that she had looked over just as she was doing now, except the people who had belonged to those objects had been gone. They had been gone because of _her_. So many other houses, so many other _people_... Memories rushed back in a brutal assault, an almost physical pain stabbing in her head.

She twisted around and leapt for the door. They were all caught by surprise by the suddenness of her movement, and she was gone, out to the street, before they could recover. Mitchell was the first to shake off his astonishment and hurl himself out after her.

Nina was alarmed. "She can't be out while she's like that! Who knows what she could do?"

"Mitchell will find her," said George, but he was already moving to get his fleece. He tossed Nina her coat, and together with Annie they dashed out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

She ran full out, legs flying and hair streaming out behind her as her bare feet slapped at the pavement. She would outrun her memories and this painful torrent of emotions. She could find the blackness once more if she could only get away. Elise smelled the slight sting of salt in the air and unconsciously veered toward it's source.

Mitchell pounded almost out of sight behind her, ignoring the scandalized looks of summer pleasure seekers that he was shouldering his way through. She was incredibly fast. He could hardly keep her in sight. He spat a curse under his breath as she turned a corner and momentarily escaped from his view.

He saw that they had been headed toward the seafront. The evening crowd was out and milling about the grand stand and he could hear the performers on stage warming up with their instruments. He came to a halt, panting. He ran his hand through his hair in consternation and scanned the crowd. It didn't seem likely that she would be among the throng of people on the boardwalk, so he began to search the shadowed corners and check the beach below.

The sky was beginning to lose its light. The last orange tendrils in the clouds were fading over the ocean when he spotted her at last. She had climbed an empty lifeguard station at the far corner that overlooked much of the shoreline. Facing the setting sun she sat at the top, cheeks stained with tears. Mitchell thought she wore the look of a caged animal, and could almost see the tumult of torturous thoughts pacing the bars that she kept them locked behind. He climbed up beside her and was silent, both of them as still as only the dead could be.

* * *

Thousands of voices waged war on her carefully crafted silence. All the lives she had lived flashed before her. Once a telephone operator. Once a seamstress. A painter. A killer. A hunter. Always a hunter, always a killer. She didn't know who she was in this lifetime. She had been sleepwalking before that night with George, living out of habit for so long that she had gradually lost herself. She hadn't wanted to be found. If she couldn't have death after so long then what she wanted was to forget. And she _had_ forgotten, for ten long years, alone. Now she was being confronted with reality again. It was painful to make her way back from that coldness. Where did these feelings come from? Why now, when they had been gone for so long? They hadn't been there when she had been desperate to find them. All had been grey, all _was_ grey, it could be again...

And then there was only one voice.


	13. Chapter 13

**This chapter! It's soooooo long. I'm sorry, but there was no appropriate place to split it. Oh well, last one, you can do it!**

**The song I envisioned them dancing to was "Blue Angel" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers. Look it up, it's great!**

* * *

Mitchell covered her cold hand with his own. He wanted to look into her eyes again, but she stared ahead and her face remained blank. Their silence stretched out unendurably and he felt the need to fill it. Looking out at the sea, he began to speak. He reached back almost one hundred years and told her about the first war, how he had been so scared and tried not to let it show but his hands had shaken every time he lit a cigarette for over a month. He told her about Josie, and how brave she had been and how hard they had both tried. He told her about George, and how when it was close to the full moon he sometimes barked in his sleep. Once Mitchell had found him cleaning the refrigerator while sleepwalking and watched him sniffing everything to see if it had gone off. He spoke of Annie, how strong she had become, and how brave she was in her fight against the doors. He told her how once Annie had come to his rescue with George, and how much he loved them both.

She was listening. She didn't look at him but her face had lost it's cold emptiness. She seemed to be deciding what to do with his words. He stopped talking abruptly and waited. Surprised by the sudden silence, Elise turned to face him. He slid his thumb gently across her tear stained cheek and they heard the band start up a song in the distance below.

"No more talking." Mitchell said, and smiled gently as he took her unresponsive hand to lead her down from the stand. The band began a softly lilting swing that Mitchell recognized from decades ago, and he pulled her into the small group of dancers gathered beneath the glittering white lights of the bandstand.

Elise closed her eyes, remembering. She knew this song as well. The 1930's, perhaps? She had loved that time, all the music and the dancing... Mitchell was watching her face attentively and saw a glimmer of recognition. He stepped into a dancers stance and pulled her to him, hips touching, thighs softly brushing each other. She instinctively stepped into him how she remembered, one hand perched softly on his shoulder, the other enfolded in his as he swept her up and across the dance floor. Their steps were in perfect unison and her face hovered close to his as he spun her about, twirling and dipping. She followed his every move, obeying the gentle pressure of his hand guiding her from the small of her back. Mitchell lowered his face to gently nuzzle the base of her throat as she leaned into him and they pirouetted gracefully together.

Nina, Annie and George made their way through the crowd. They stopped, breathless and in awe, when they saw the slowly revolving couple on the dance floor. The other dancers had moved away, creating a ring around the oblivious pair at its center. Annie observed an elderly couple on a bench clasp hands and follow Elise and Mitchell with wistful eyes and reminiscing smiles.

"Did you know that he could do that?" Nina asked George in amazement. She would never have believed Mitchell capable of anything so beautiful. They moved together perfectly, like the figures on a music box.

"They're... perfect together, aren't they?" George watched his friend. He looked so happy. He realized what a long time it had been since he had seen Mitchell genuinely happy. Not since they had left Bristol. No, not since Lucy and all the irrevocable damage that she had done.

The music ended, and the audience began to melt back onto the dance floor, obscuring the enthralled couple still swaying to the absent melody. Nina wrapped her arm around George's waist and they turned back the way they had come. Despite the crowd around them it felt like they were watching a very private moment. Annie took one last lingering look, smiled, and followed them home.

Elise and Mitchell clung to each other even after the music had ended. Mitchell was afraid to break the spell Elise seemed to be under. The spell that _he_ was under, he realized. The minutes ticked on and still they held each other. Finally, Mitchell pulled back to look into her face and they examined each other as though meeting for the first time. He found her eyes clear and sharp, as he had seen them only once before. A smile flashed over him, warm and relieved. He amazed her, that he was always so open, so vibrant. She reached up her hands and buried them in his hair, pulling him down to her. Standing on tiptoe, she tenderly brushed his earlobe with her lips. "Thank you," she whispered simply.

Mitchell kept his head bowed, letting their cheeks rest together until he became aware of the throng of people that had filled in around them. He reluctantly stepped back, but took her hand and began to lead her out of the crowd and toward the empty beach. They walked hand in hand until they found a comfortably dry patch of sand above the tideline.

He gazed at her profile as they sat in silence. She looked more relaxed, as though resigned to accepting reality and the world again. She closed her eyes and leaned back on her hands, an exultant face tipped up into the salty breeze. He eyed the sloping line of her throat longingly, wanting to follow it with his fingers. He pushed the thought away, judging the timing to be wrong.

"Are you alright now?" he asked.

She turned the question over briefly. "I can be. I will be." she said, sounding determined. She pushed her bare toes through the sand and reveled in the sensation, both cool and grainy. To feel again! That was what he did for her, woke her every latent desire, every buried feeling. Her eyes flashed to him fiercely, almost possessive. Protective.

"The man that you brought me. Seven?" Mitchell nodded. "Where did he come from? He was willing."

Mitchell shrugged evasively. "Vampires I know. _Odd_ ones."

"Hargreaves?"

Mitchell turned to her with his mouth open and she laughed, a surprisingly light trill. "This isn't my first rodeo." she said. "The Hargreaves have been around for years. I know how they live." She leaned into him as though trying to draw warmth from his cold shoulder. "I assume they didn't give you loan of Seven out of any sense of altruism."

He looked away, silent. It was answer enough. Elise took his gloved hand and laced her fingers through his. "What did they ask of you?"

Mitchell shrugged. He was becoming more aware of her slight accent, subtle but noticeable. A short clip to her vowels, a way of swallowing certain consonants. He liked hearing her speak after having wondered for so long what she would sound like. Her voice was a low feline purr in his ears.

"Favor, to be named." He answered. He tried to force a smile for her benefit, but Elise wasn't fooled.

"You can consider it paid," she said.

He shook his head. "You didn't make the request. I can't let you pay my debt."

She laughed again, quick and sharp. It made him shiver, this particular laugh. "I think you'll find them more than happy to accommodate me in anything that I might ask." Again Mitchell saw that feral look cross her face, wild and dangerous. Her face changed and she turned, idly watching the people milling about on the boardwalk. He recognized that look and for the first time was uneasy with her.

"Are you... hungry?" he asked, knowing the answer.

She looked at him closely. His brows were drawn together and he seemed guarded for once. She wondered why the thought of her feeding would disturb him. "Yes. Nothing that can't wait though."

He turned away, thoughtful. She studied the lines of his face, noting the clenching of his jaw. Abruptly she leaned closer, breathing him in and sat back, surprised.

"How long for you?" she asked.

Mitchell looked at his hands for a long moment. "Eight years," he answered. After a brief pause, his face twisted in anguish and he hung his head. "Two months." He whispered. "It's been two months since I've fed."

The hand holding his tightened briefly. Mitchell reluctantly looked up through disgusted tears and saw that Elise was simply watching the waves lap at the shore. She didn't seem disturbed by either the fact that he abstained or that he had failed so miserably to do so. She seemed to be forming some sort of resolution.

"Mitchell," she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. "I need to leave for a while. Let's just say I've been out of the social loop for a bit." A ferocious smile touched her tight lips as she thought of her impending visit to the Hargreaves. It would be enjoyable to see them squirm when she knocked on their door. No doubt they had written her off long ago.

She looked at Mitchell, who was still downcast. So she would be leaving him. He couldn't blame her. He knew that he was a train wreck. He winced at the unintentional pun. Watching him, Elise felt strangely awkward and unsure of herself. God, he made her feel like a newborn again. For once, she couldn't get a clear reading from his expression.

"Look, I'm just going to have it out as it's been a while for me... This is 2012, isn't it? I thought I saw a newspaper..." said Elise. Mitchell turned in surprise and nodded an affirmative. "Then it's been ten years since I... 'left', for lack of a better word."

"Left?"

"Left society, the public eye, the beaten path, what have you."

"Ten years," Mitchell echoed. "Ten years there, where George found you? In the woods?" She saw pity in his eyes and it sparked her to an anger that she quickly brought under control.

"It's my land. I bought it, before. There's many reasons not to live in a house." she said cryptically.

Mitchell was intrigued. "Such as?"

She smiled, teasing him now. "Here's a new tip for you, my little vampire fledgling. If you don't have a physical house, any border of land that you own becomes your threshold. Vampires cannot cross and you have a much greater barrier between you and them." She frowned slightly, then amended, "_Most_ vampires cannot cross."

Mitchell took a minute to process this new information. The stake she carried, keeping such a large boundary around her... It all added up. "Who is after you, Elise?" Concern caused his accent to thicken, unintentionally becoming a soothing lilt. "You can stay with us as long as you need, we can help protect you."

Elise threw her head back and laughed, a bitter trill. Looking at him she could see all the demons that haunted him and understood better than he could know. He was still so earnest and so fresh. She thought it would kill her to see him loose that. He had enough troubles of his own.

"No, it's _you_ that _I'm_ going to help! I certainly owe you. There's something I want you to see. But first I need some... time." She had not drank from a human in over thirty years. Now she felt herself full of Seven's blood and knew that it was only a matter of time before the burning withdrawal set in. She would not allow Mitchell to see her that way. When it was done she would come back for him. Elise saw how difficult it was for him and how badly he wanted to beat his insatiable hunger, but he didn't know the way. She gazed vaguely out at the sea, lost in her thoughts and absently picking at the hem of her shirt. There was something ageless about her when she did that, Mitchell thought.

"You're an Old One, aren't you?" Mitchell asked, quietly. "That's why you're..." He stopped, searching for a word that wouldn't offend her. "lost. How old are you?" She was quiet for a long time and he traced circles in the sand with his forefinger while he waited patiently. When she answered, it was with a question of her own.

"Who was the oldest vampire you've ever really known?"

Mitchell considered. "Ivan. He was 237. Towards the end he was, well, bored. He was searching for something, _anything_, to make himself feel again."

"237. Yes, that can be the start of the vampire version of the seven year itch." Her mouth quirked. "To answer your question, yes, you could say that I would be considered an 'Old One'."

"Older than Ivan?" He pressed. She laughed and a pleasant shiver ran up his spine.

"Ivan was just a baby."

Mitchell raised his eyebrows but let the subject drop. They sat for a while in comfortable silence, enjoying the play of the salty wind in their hair. Mitchell's spirits still seemed oppressed by what he had let slip about himself earlier. Her heart went out to him. She wanted to wipe way all the hurt and see his eyes dance with laughter once more. She could help him, but the conditions had to be right. It felt so wrong to let him suffer but she couldn't put this off any longer. "Mitchell, I have to go. Now." she said.

Mitchell tried to arrange his features into a neutral mask and failed miserably. He didn't look at her when next he spoke. "You'll come back?" He stared down at the intricate designs that he had created in the sand beside himself. When he finally looked up, Elise was looking at him with faint amusement.

"Mitchell," her eyes sparkled. "you have no poker face. Let's not pretend that I'm not running back to you immediately after I... tie up a few loose ends. You're the most intriguing thing I've come across in centuries."

His forced calm erupted into a sunny smile and a happy laugh. He flipped himself around, kicking up sand as he did, and caught her up in his arms. Sure of himself now, he ran his hands up her sheer sleeves, caressing her arms through the slinky fabric until he was grasping her firmly by he shoulders. He pulled her roughly to him and she tossed her head back, watching him with intense, piercing eyes. He tipped his face down to nuzzle the base of her throat and grazed the hollows with his teeth. She leaned against him and at her sharp intake of breath he could feel his lust rising. Bloodlust, as well. He paused, collecting himself, and began instead a gentle trail of light kisses that ended at her jawline. He pulled back and they studied each other face to face, each amazed at the depth of this newfound connection. Elise raised her chin to seek his lips and found them cold and soft. Their kiss was slow and interrogative as they took each others measure. Both seemed satisfied with what they found and after a long moment their kiss trailed off with short, small nips. A look of fierce joy shone on her face as they stepped back from each other. She backed away, eyes flashing black with longing. Without a word she whirled and fled down the beach. She did not look back.

Mitchell watched Elise go, hair streaming behind her, until her small shape was swallowed by the distance. The dunes stretched out empty before him but still he stayed. The first light of morning was just beginning to push its way across the waves when he finally turned toward home, a contented smile playing faintly across his lips. He would wait.

**FINISH**

* * *

**So there will hopefully be a second part, time permitting. Lots of things left hanging and little mysteries to clear up. And the whole point was to give Mitchell a chance at a happier ending, so there's that. :)**


	14. Chapter 14: Announcement!

**AN: This isn't a chapter, but an announcement, simply because I noticed I had some people who followed after I completed this, and I wanted to make sure everyone knew I was breaking it into separate parts, possibly three. You can find the second part under My Stories, titled "Reckoning." It's sat idle for a while but I hope I'll be adding parts more frequently from here on out. My Hobbit obsession is finally dying down. Not fizzling out, but approaching a manageable level.**

**That's all I had to say! :) Go get your read on!**


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